Smile Sweet And Bow
by gschelt
Summary: "But there was another part of me that was masochist too, when it came to you, the part that was drawn in little by little every time you hurt me." Jenny/Adele, oneshot. rated T for language and themes of self-abuse and suicide.


_**Author's Note:** First L Word fic from me and I can't just make it a simple hookup story, oooooh no. I wanted to explore the possibility of Adele/Jenny, and I wanted to explore the death of Jenny; 2 birds with one stone, I guess. But I'll probably write something else that's more than just unrequited love between these two in the future. I kind of got carried away with this one, it ended up all angsty and glorious. Hahaha. Anyway, feedback is greatly appreciated as always. Especially for this story, since I kind of went out on a limb with it. Thanks. :)_  
_I own nothing._

* * *

_(Adele Channing)_

I only hurt you because I loved you.

I guess that's the inner sadist in me talking.

But there was another part of me that was masochist too, when it came to you, the part that was drawn in little by little every time you hurt me. Even though you didn't know you did it, even though your delicate face didn't twist with that impish look of savage pleasure when you fuck like a sadist; I know you did it, I know you've done it. I know so many things about you.

I want you to do it to me.

But I only hurt you the way I did because I loved you, I swear.

I suppose I was a little bit jealous. Seeing you with Nikki was like walking on hot coals. Seeing you fucking Nikki was like needles driven under my fingernails. I wasn't masochist enough to enjoy that. As much as it thrilled and cinched at my heart when you pushed me around and looked at me like I was dirt, it split me in half the way you could be wicked half the time and sweet the other half. Or, more accurately, wicked with most everyone and sweet with only Nikki. Those who didn't know you well would say you were a sweet girl, because your voice and smile are always so soft and saccharine, even when you're firing someone or lacing your sentences with swear words. Those who didn't know you well – the suits, your Hollywood associates and all of them – would also probably associate your visible bloodthirsty tendencies to the business. You're a shrewd girl, they would say.

It was part of who you are. You could be sharp and acrid still with that small, cupid-like smile on your lips. Just like it's just part of who I am to enjoy being browbeaten and submissive. Especially by you.

Then you turned around, turned upon Nikki and to her you were a different person. You were sweet, kind, affectionate… all those things you could be with your friends, with people like Shane, with me, even, but with Nikki you changed yourself. She erased the _real_ you, the raw and so very _Jenny_ parts of you.

It was wrong.

All right, maybe I hurt you in part because I was jealous. I felt pain and I lashed out like a wounded animal. But when you trace it back, it's all _still_ because I loved you. Never before had anyone made me hurt like that, the way you did, and I knew it was because of how deeply I felt for you.

Had it been anyone else, I probably would have taken a few deep breaths and taken a sick day or two, gathering my broiling emotions and stuffing the heartbreak down. But instead, my eyes were stuck to you like they had been speared and pinned, bleeding, upon you. That's what it felt like at least. And I sat, petrified, as I watched your limber silhouette twisting and quivering under Nikki. And I broiled like churning water. It was like physical pain.

I probably should have told you how I felt, but that would not have worked in so many ways. You were my boss, and I was your assistant. You were domineering, and I was subservient. You were so very far away from me, miles and miles away, and I was right under your very nose. You were with Nikki. I was loyal to you. I was not the type to make a move of any sort; it was my way to edge my way into what I wanted, it was my way to manipulate. The word _manipulate_ always sounds so bad, but really it's not. It's such a subtle, delicate art form of ambition.

But I honestly really always had little. Ambition, that is. I never _wanted_ to blackmail you. I was just hurt. I just wanted to be with you.

Though I should never have made any move towards you, there are still so many reasons why you and I would have worked so _well_ together. Because we could both inflict and endure pain and enjoy it, use it as an aphrodisiac. We were both intricate, fucked up little creatures. A girl like you didn't need a plastic, needy starlet. You needed someone like you.

I wasn't like Nikki; I didn't need for you to erase the pure poison streaks in you. I didn't need you to be sugary sweet for the sake of my ginger feelings; I could take you the way you were. I loved you the way you were. There was ugly blackness in you, and I saw that, and I wanted it. You were like black licorice, to me; I was one of the few that really _liked_ it and _wanted_ it.

Your friends had every right to begin hating you; you _did_ become a pariah, you _did_ cross the line with them. You ruined things where you had no right to even touch them. But it wasn't my place to say, even though I'm saying it now. Like I said, I was never going to step in and do anything, say anything. I more wanted to stay silent at your side and watch every move you made. Your destructive antics were fascinating, mesmerizing, to me. And in some sick way, that masochistic way, I suppose, I lingered close in hopes that you would hurt me too.

But that wasn't what I had in mind when you actually did.

The sad thing is that you didn't do it because you loved me, the way I hurt you because I loved _you_. No, you didn't even do it on purpose. You did it because you were loose and impulsive, and because you didn't even know that anyone's heart was underfoot as you flitted back and forth.

Did you even know I had a heart? Or did you only see me smile sweet and bow?

* * *

In your dreams it happens like this:

"_Adele, hi," Jenny says in her airy, songlike voice as you push aside the tent flap and enter without even announcing your presence. It would be common manners demanded of most people, but in your case she doesn't care. It's like when the cat enters in on you changing; it doesn't matter much. _

_You smile your small smile and mutter your small greeting, mind racing with thoughts of Nikki and how much you despise her for stealing Jenny away. You despise her so much for just being here, on the Pink Ride. You despise her for touching and laughing with Jenny in plain sight, for making her so happy. For being such a normal, happy couple. You catch yourself hating both of them in that last instant, and the act of hating Jenny stings your chest. _

_Jenny doesn't notice your troubled silence. She doesn't care enough to notice any of your mannerisms. She hardly even looks at you._

… Wait, no. That's not your dream. That's too much reality. This is what happens in your dream:

"_Adele," Jenny states flatly as you enter. She's sitting on the edge of the bed, toying with her hands in acute distress. _

"_Yeah," you say softly, coming around from behind her, noting with concern the slump of her shoulders and the melancholy lilt in her voice. The thought of putting a hand on her arm crosses your mind, but instead you hover, standing, behind her. You observe her delicate profile as she gazes at the side of the tent hollowly. _

"_Adele, I'm unhappy with Nikki," Jenny admits dully and bluntly (in words, not in voice or diction, she is never blunt in voice or diction). _

_Your heart thrills with wild hope. You shift from one foot to another, and ignore the pounding in your chest to keep your voice level and calm. _

"_I suppose it was only a matter of time." It's that mediator's voice, soothing and manipulative, that always gets you what you want; you want very little in life, but right now there's something that you want very much. "I'm sorry, though," you add sympathetically. "Is there anything I can do?"_

_The twisting in your gut whispers urgently that it could turn into a yes. _

_Jenny turns her head to you, her unapologetically invasive eyes x-raying you. "I want you to come over here," she murmurs, cocking her head thoughtfully. So you come around the bed and approach her. And you don't know why, but you kneel before her. So subservient of you, but would it be any other way? Would it be any other way with her? She looks down at you curiously, in that way of hers that always makes you wonder what she's thinking. She then reaches out and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. _

"_What you can do for me," she whispers in that mesmerizingly vacant voice of hers, as she takes the collar of your shirt with one finger and gently pulls you closer, "is do what you always do for me."_

"_What's that?" you rasp, finding yourself suddenly closer and closer to Jenny as she pulls you in. _

"_Smooth…" she whispers, "… everything out." And, clinging to your shirtfront loosely, she meets your mouth. It's dark like dark chocolate or that black licorice that most people either love or hate (hate, mainly). Dark and sweet and her lips taste yours softly. It's perfect. It's everything inexplicable that you know would come together so perfectly if the two of you ever came together, if she ever opened her eyes and saw you. And all this you know in the instant that she kisses you, that's how right it is. _

_Jenny presses her body against yours and you bend back until you're lying on the canvas floor, your boss crouched over you with her hand on your neck and her lips on your mouth. Her tongue snakes against yours slowly and delicately, but with purpose. And, you realize with a surge of quiet pleasure as you put your hand upon the warm skin on the small of her back, she's not kissing you recklessly and impulsively. Like she did when she first hooked up with Nikki at Tina's party, drunk and giggling in a closet of all places. No, with you she's deliberate and you know, you know deep down, that this is what she wants. _

_So you sigh into her mouth and run your hands up the sides of her body, shuddering at how right it feels. Jenny's black bangs brush your forehead, and her legs tangle with yours. She smiles, breathing deep, as you slowly push the bottom of her shirt up and off her body.  
_

_

* * *

  
_

_(Jennifer Schecter)_

I'm going to be quite honest; I never cared enough to pay much attention to you.

Why should I, when I was on the cusp of fame and success? I had the world on a string, and no need to look around at those not within my immediate frame of vision. And though you were within my immediate frame of vision, though you were so close it's like you were _behind_ that frame, looking at it from the same perspective as me, I would never for all the world take notice of you. Why would I? You were just my assistant.

Yes, that's me being honest. It's that brutal honesty that's driven so many away from me, that's alienated me from my friends and those I care about. Could I stop? No. I'm not who I used to be. I became a user, an abuser. Of people, of feelings and emotions. It's what made me happy.

So, when I took stock of people in terms of how I could make use of them, what would you be to me? Could I use you for sex, money, power, love, a thrill? Doubtful. Could I use you for running errands? Well, there you go.

I was neither proud nor ashamed of myself. There were so many others out for themselves in the world, I had no qualms about doing the same more _honestly_. What was the difference between me, openly acting selfishly, and all the others around me, my friends included, tricking themselves into thinking they weren't? Everyone was out for themselves. _Everyone_.

So you were my assistant. That's what I could use you for, and fuck if I was going to lie and say I thought of you as any more. I didn't.

I didn't for the longest time, that is.

When you betrayed me, it felt like a physical blow. Like a fist connecting to my abdomen, driving the air from my lungs. It wasn't so much anger or hurt (though there was much of that); it was more of a revelation. You weren't who I thought you were. You weren't just that softly smiling girl with no thoughts and no purpose other than my wants. You were a human being, which I had failed to recognize. You were a calculating, opportunist viper, which I had failed to recognize. You were so much like me, which I had failed to recognize. You were an anomaly to my use-value system of human relationships, which I realized as the wind was knocked from me.

Fuck, you were so very much like me. And when I realized that, _that's_ when what you'd done began to hurt.

At the same time, everything with Nikki fell apart. Coming to the realization that someone like you was under my nose the entire time, it made Nikki seem like a lie. My idea of you turning into a lie made my idea of _everyone_ turn into a lie. So you weren't what I had thought, so you were a cave that I could get lost and _die_ in; Nikki wasn't just what I had thought, a bratty ingénue who had charmed me with a good fuck, she was also nothing to care about anymore.

All I could think about was you, and I didn't know why.

Well, I did know why. You had just ruined my movie, you had betrayed me. You took everything away from me. But I knew that wasn't the only reason, and that's what confused me.

For some reason, I wanted you to hurt me again. Now that you had done so a first time, I wanted you to do so again so I could lose my breath and marvel at the strange euphoria of being hurt by another person. It hadn't felt this way since Carmen, with that tape and with Mark and with Shane, had done it to me.

It hadn't felt this way since I had done it to myself.

* * *

In the end it happens like this:

"…_Did you even know I had a heart? Or did you only see me smile sweet and bow? _

_The thing I realize now is that I don't blame you for never loving me in return. I was wounded by jealousy, and I punished you for it, but it was for assuaging my own sad heartbreak and not for any wrong you had done. You never did anything wrong. You never owed anything to me. You didn't deserve to be hurt that way, but if I had to go back I would still do it again. _

_I only hurt you because I loved you, and that act of love, sick and fucked as it was, is the only act of love I will ever have the chance of giving to you. _

_Because Nikki is out of the picture and it still doesn't fix anything. The jealousy is gone, but still I can't have you. I never will, and not just because I hurt you and that burned a bridge between us that can never be repaired; it was just never possible to have you for my own. I think I knew it all along, but I know it for sure now. I know it much more clearly now that the cloud of jealousy is lifted. _

_I'm very sorry for having hurt you, but you must know that I only did it because I loved you. And now, I suppose, I'm doing this other destructive thing because I love you too. That's the only reason that is filling me up so fully right now, the only thing that's going to make me burst. You. I can only hope that it doesn't hurt you. _

_I love you,_

Adele"

_The letter is creased thickly into sections from the amount of times you've folded and unfolded it over the course of the day, taking it from your pocket every few minutes to scan over the words written in delicate, spidery handwriting. For reasons unknown, you told no one. Tina hasn't heard yet; you doubt hardly anyone has. They will, though, it's only a matter of hours before someone contacts Tina to tell her what had happened earlier today to the director of that obscure lesbian flick she recently produced. You yourself only know because you called Adele's cell phone hours ago, after you read the letter the first two times, and were greeted by the coarse voice of a police officer, who told you exactly why Ms. Channing couldn't be reached._

_You stand at the edge of the pool, staring into the shimmering turquoise water distractedly while you fold the letter in half. Your reflection ripples as it stares curiously at you. _

_She had put on a sleek black dress and pumps and swallowed ninety-nine pills. She had been found lying on the king-sized bed in her brand new twenty-room mansion. She had driven by and left you the letter before she went home and did it. She had been in love with you. _

_You wonder what it would be like if you could stop hurting people. Adele would still be alive. Shane would still love you. Your friends would still like you. Marina would still be here. Tim would still be with you. Your parents would still speak to you. You… your skin would still be unblemished but for that scar on your left knee from a bicycle accident when you were eight. _

_Wouldn't it all be so much better? _

_You've always known you're a destructive person, you never left out yourself in brutal honesty to everyone. But now you look at yourself and you wonder what good it's all been for. To make you successful, wealthy, to make you feel good? _

_It only feels good when you feel bad. _

_So then, logically, that would mean you feel terrific right now. Because despite Adele's last wish, this has hurt you. This has hurt you more than her blackmail of you, more than you could ever imagine. This feels like a deep, jagged, puncture wound right in your heart. And not the nice red paper heart shape that means a metaphor for all of your pretty emotions; the slick, wet, beating organ in your chest. And you can't explain why this has affected you so suddenly and so starkly. It's almost out of character for you; but no, no it's not. When things hurt you, they hurt you hard and devastatingly. _

_It's the fact that this particular thing is killing you right now. That's the shocker. _

_You thrilled at the pain Adele cause you the first time. And this time, well, this time it's like a drug too but you're overdosing. Is it because you felt anything deeply for Adele herself? Or is it just because that sick part of you has always reveled in the feeling of pain, and it wouldn't matter who administered it? Is your heart ripping in two because Adele was so good at giving you what you would never in a thousand years admit you want, and now she's gone? Is that a fucked up kind of love? Is that the only kind of love you can thrive on?_

_For some reason you know deep down that the answer is yes; yes, the love you can thrive on the best is the love that will hurt you. But it doesn't feel like thriving now. Right now it feels like drowning. Because Adele is dead, and it hurts, but you never really knew her at all. That's the part that kills the most. You never really knew her at all._

_The still blue water is cold on your bare legs as you slowly descend, shuddering and breaking out into goosebumps all over your body. Even the glistening streaks of tears on your cheeks are cold; you had no idea that you had shed them, but there they are just the same. Soon your limp fingers are trailing in the water, now delicately disrupted into ripples by the slow activity of your body, up to your wrists. You gasp at the chill when your abdomen is submerged, exhaling shallowly and closing your eyes to ignore it as you slowly tread further in. And before your shoulders are reached, just as the tips of your hair are getting to look like fine-tipped paintbrushes in black paint, you sigh and push off your feet. It's like falling into bed. _

_And you float._

_And you sink. _

_As your heavy limbs trail dreamlike, like seaweed, you leave your eyes shut so you can see what you want to see. For some reason you picture Adele, and the way she would smile sweet. Your curiously blank mind tries to fathom what she was thinking beneath that smile. _


End file.
